Decompression
by lp2k
Summary: A long case, a few drinks in the office, and a silly teenager's game takes things to a new place. Updated, and changed rating to 'M' to be on the safe side.
1. Prologue

_A/n: I don't own Lie to Me or any of the characters. However, if someone from Fox is reading this, I'd be happy to provide consulting services to help you figure out how to GET THESE TWO TOGETHER. _

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_Prologue_

Lightman made a show of propping his feet on her desk, then allowed his gaze to travel up her legs, crossed at the ankles as she sat on her office couch. "Well, Foster?" he said, as he reached her eyes. "You did say 'dare,' after all," he added, tilting his head to the side as his upper lip twisted into a smirk.


	2. A Game Proposed

_Stupid, insane, foolhardy, reckless… she could think of any number of adjectives to describe what she'd let happen – somehow, and it wasn't at all clear how, she'd let Cal Lightman maneuver her into a friendly game of 'truth or dare' in her office, as they'd savored a drink at the end of a long case. Well, a few drinks. _

_It had begun as decompression after two days spent at a prestigious private women's college trying to determine if a visiting professor had, in fact, traded grades for sexual favors. Not remotely challenging to Cal, of course, and she'd teased him about seizing any excuse to spend a few days interviewing attractive – if rather serious – young students._

"Wish I'd known you at university, Foster," Cal had said, watching her as he sipped his whiskey – they were both on the second drink; the first had gone down all at once.

"Oh?" She smiled and raised her eyebrows, inviting more.

"Yeah – you know, you're always so… restrained, it would have been fun to know you before you developed that flawless shrink façade you lug about all day," he said, gesturing impatiently at her face. "Not that it does much good round here, of course, but you know what I mean, yeah?"

"I don't know, Cal, I wasn't much of a wild co-ed even back then," she replied, rolling her eyes slightly, then glancing at her lap rather than back at him.

"Well, now, that's interesting," he said, flashing his eyebrows at her with a grin, "because I'm pretty sure you just thought of something I'd very much like to know about." His grin widened, becoming crooked.

"I can't imagine what you're talking about," she answered, shrugging her shoulder.

"Gillian. How is it possible that we've worked together for seven – eight? – years, and you've learned absolutely nothing about how to disguise a lie? Hmm?" He leaned forward, pulling his feet from her desk. "I'd honestly like to know, darling," he added, watching her intently.

She regarded him for a moment, then her gaze flickered for a moment again. "Does it ever occur to you that I don't actually try, Cal? That I make a choice to be honest with you, even when I'm lying?" Her blue eyes fixed him with more intensity than usual.

Cal sat back, with a familiar expression – brows furrowed, mouth slightly open, fingers steepled together. Gillian recognized it as his 'working things through' look, and knew there was no point in saying anything else until he completed his thought.

"Right," he said, nodding his head. "Right – truth or dare, Foster?

_Truth or dare. With the world's foremost expert on reading facial expressions. Whom she'd repeatedly admonished, over the years, for reading too much on her face, going past the line. _

"Pardon me?" she inquired, ignoring the look of concentration that had appeared on his face. She knew that look well enough; it meant whoever was on the other end of it was destined for a heated few moments of interrogation.

"You've heard of it, yeah? I ask, you answer, we switch?" Suddenly she was looking at a Cal Lightman who was entirely too businesslike for her liking – setting his empty glass on her desk, settling sideways into her desk chair, peering at her with his head lowered to see her expression.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the rules. I meant why would we, of all people, need to play truth or dare? You read everything on my face whether I want you to or not, so…"

"Think about it, love," he said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands loosely. "You say you don't want me to read you, but you also just – basically – said you want me to see the truth even when you're lying. Doesn't make any sense, right?" His eyes brightened, and that lopsided grin took over his mouth. "You've got something you want to tell me, so you know what? I'm going to help you, Foster," he concluded, the grin becoming irrepressible.


	3. Mutual Disclosures

_He saw it, of course, the quick fluttering of the pulse at her throat, the way her hand half-rose from her lap in the beginning of a defensive gesture before settling down again, ineffectually. Her mouth worked, hiding an embarrassed smile even as the color rose in her cheeks. He watched her for a signal of genuine discomfort, indicating that he'd barged too far past their 'line', but saw nothing but indirect invitation – eyes slanted sideways (a possible indicator of shame, of course) but periodically darting back to check his face (approval-seeking). Gillian was a powerful mind in her own right, but years of working with him hadn't cured her of the habit of monitoring his responses – although Cal was wise enough to consider that this 'habit' might be her own form of benign manipulation. _

She shifted on her sofa, finally making real eye contact with him. "Cal, I-"

"Want to make the first one a truth, darling? Work up to the dares after another drink or two, eh?" Her eyes flashed quickly to his face; Cal catalogued (with some surprise) the expression he caught in them for future reference – fear or excitement, he guessed, and saw no reason for Gillian to be afraid with him… But the wide-eyed expression left her face quickly, replaced by the tolerant amusement she adopted so frequently for his benefit.

She leaned back against the sofa, re-crossing her legs. "Alright, then. Truth," she requested, deliberately making her face go blank and watching him expectantly.

"Hmm," Cal said, considering his options. He knew that her defensive posture remained, behind her carefully schooled expression, so he elected to start with an easy one. "Were you a virgin when you started at UCLA?"

"That's what you want to know? Is that what you think I wanted to tell you?" she asked, coming as close as she ever did to smirking.

"No, love, that's what we call establishing a baseline – now you've got a couple of drinks down you, thought it wouldn't hurt to double-check," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "So? Virgin?" he prompted.

"Well… yes," she answered, chewing her lip reflectively as her eyes flew sideways.

"But not wholly inexperienced, then, judging by that somewhat suggestive manipulator?" he pursued.

"No, not entirely," she admitted, smiling significantly at him over the rim of her glass. "Also, that was two questions, which is against the rules."

"Well, too late to object now, as you've answered them both," he replied with mock brusqueness.

"A mistake I won't make again. Truth or dare, Cal?" Her eyes twinkled, and for the first time Cal considered that giving her free rein to ask anything her heart desired may not have been altogether clever of him. She wasn't as gifted at microexpression detection as he was, but she had her own brand of insight, and god knew she knew which buttons to press, all in the name of therapeutic practice, of course.

"Truth, for now," he answered, keeping his relaxed seating in her chair even as his reflexive defense mechanisms rose up inside him. But this was Gillian, he reminded himself, who believed so strongly in their line and would never push him very far. Just because he'd taken their game as an invitation to disregard their usual boundary didn't mean she would. Besides, he thought he might enjoy sharing a few choice stories from his university days with her, at that.

"Were you ever in love, before Zoe?" Gillian was still smiling, but her eyes had a serious enough look that Cal knew it wasn't an idle question, but something she'd wondered about before.

He felt a tightening in his stomach, but remembered to breathe by looking into Gillian's eyes, where he saw only caring and curiosity, never a desire to cause him pain.

"No," he said simply. "Not before." Belatedly Cal realized he'd actually answered more than one question there, and the glint he saw in Gillian's eyes informed him that she'd not missed it, either. "Truth or dare, Foster," he said, before she had a chance to push further.

"Hmm... I think… truth again, please," she replied, drinking the last half-inch of Scotch remaining in her glass and reaching for the bottle.

"Hold on – are you implying that you've even considered choosing 'dare'? And that was not my question, just so you know."

"People can be unpredictable, Cal, even to you," she said, clinking their refilled glasses together. "Even me," she added.

"Fascinating," he mused, peering at her curiously. "You must be absolutely lethal in a poker game," he said, as if this were something he'd never considered about her. "Now then – who was the first professor you were intimate with?"

Cal got to enjoy the startled look on her face for a good half-second before she managed to inhale part of her Scotch, and her delightfully shocked eyes closed in a coughing fit.

"What-? Cal-" she spluttered, slowly regaining control over her breathing. "What makes you think I was 'intimate' with any of my professors, may I ask?"

"Well, that reaction was a dead giveaway, love, but it was obvious anyway. One, the look on your face when you mentioned 'wild co-eds' showed clear contempt for the typical post-adolescent idiocy most college girls engage in – therefore, something atypical. Two," he continued, ticking off items exaggeratedly on his fingers, "you're brilliant and therefore wouldn't have given the time of day to your average college boy." (Gillian inadvertently confirmed this with a wry twist of her lips.) "Three, I happen to have noticed that you've a bit of a thing for authority figures, darling," he finished, using a lower tone and giving her a slight leer as he observed her reaction closely. He wasn't disappointed – her breathing sped up and she squirmed minutely where she sat, as her eyes searched for a landing place that wasn't his face.

"You've noticed," she repeated skeptically, finally allowing her gaze to rest on him. "What does that mean?" she asked, tilting her head as if to better gauge his words.

"Willing to forfeit your next turn to have me answer that?" he asked. She nodded almost immediately. "Well, I could tell you about all the times I watched you make eyes – in your admittedly subtle style – at five-star generals and billionaire CEO's," he started, until the way her body relaxed, the tension leaving her face, told him to change direction. "But more importantly, don't you ever wonder why, even though we're full partners in the Lightman Group, you always treat me as the boss?"

"Cal, it's your work, your research that underlies everything we do here – of course I'm going to defer to your judgment sometimes-"

"Nah, nope, that's not it," he interrupted. "See, Loker and Torres? They treat me like the boss because that's what I am to them, and even when they stand up to me, they expect that I'll come down on them sooner or later. They show anxiety. You, though," he continued, pointing at her thoughtfully, "you've got nothing to fear from me and you know it, but you keep pushing at me until I push back, invade your space, start barking orders." He stopped for a moment, analyzing her face, which remained surprisingly impassive. "And since I also know you have a good relationship with your father, ruling out 'daddy issues,' all I can think is that you like it when I do that, when I boss you around. That right, Foster?"

He didn't really need confirmation from her, but knew his query would provoke a reaction – and it did. She breathed deeply, nostrils flaring, eyes wider than ever. Cal recognized that she was veiling a very intense emotion – he thought it might be anger, but then again, it might be something else entirely.


	4. Escalation

"_You like it when I do that, when I boss you around?" His question seemed to make the air thick, difficult to breathe, as it hung between them. Gillian found herself unable to pull her eyes away from his, feeling somewhat like a butterfly stuck with a pin under a magnifying glass. She'd always warned Cal away from seeing too much, but she was just now beginning to understand what it felt like to have him truly reading her, seemingly accessing her thoughts directly from her mind without need of gesture or microexpression._

She gave her head a brief shake to try to clear out the mist that had developed in it; somehow she knew that Cal wouldn't be fooled into interpreting it as a denial.

"Sociology," she said. The apparent _non sequitur_ had the dual benefits of distracting Cal from his train of thought and creating a rare look of pure confusion on his face.

"What's that, love?"

"It was a sociology professor, Cal." She'd decided, correctly, that answering his original question was much less dangerous than continuing along the path they'd been on.

"Let's not be stingy with the details, now, Gillian," he admonished her, raising his eyebrows knowingly. She shrugged innocently. "For instance, did you go after him, or did he seduce you?" His leer had returned, but she just gave him a superior smile.

"If you must know, I went after her," Gillian replied, pleased by the genuine surprise that showed itself on Cal's face. "She was beautiful, and French, and I liked how her lips looked when she said my name, _Zhillian_." She smiled involuntarily at the recollection.

"Seriously? You wouldn't be having me on here?" When she nodded, affirming the truth of what she'd said, he shook his head. "I take back everything I ever said about your atrocious lying abilities," he said, amazement in his voice.

"Now, I never lied about that – you just never asked," she pointed out.

"Well, I mean, you were married when we met, right? Why would I think to ask?" It was clear that he hadn't quite gotten over being taken off his guard yet – it was good for him, she reflected; happened rarely enough.

"'I am vast; I contain multitudes,'" she quoted, satisfaction practically bursting on her face.

"Yes, I'm beginning to see that, Foster," he replied seriously. "Which brings us to your forfeited turn, I believe. It'll be truth, I assume?" Cal's businesslike tone was back, and it seemed that he was in a hurry to get to his next question. She was tempted to deny him the opportunity, but suspected he'd find a way to make her regret it if she deprived him of whatever he wanted to know. She nodded again, though she was sure he'd caught her moment of consideration; no doubt he was working on a suitable 'dare' even as he prepared to launch his next question.

"Listen carefully, right, because this is a special kind of question," he advised her. "When I asked if you wanted to play this little game, I wanted to find out about your wild college ways, but you thought of something else, I saw it on your face. Something else you dreaded me asking, but at the same time it excited you. No good denying it," he added, as she opened her mouth to object, "you were practically squirming off the sofa there a few minutes ago, love, and that was long before we got to your admittedly provocative confession."

Gillian was aware that her eyes were roaming rapidly around the room, and she forced them to rest on Cal's. His gaze was a challenge, mixed with something else, something hard and glittering. "What were you afraid I'd ask?" he finally said, studying her face, noting the way her shoulder rose in an aborted shrug. "Not quite the right question, then, I'd wager," he said, eyes never leaving hers.

"How about this, darling," he said, the lowered timbre of his voice sending a visible shiver along her spine, "what did you **want** me to ask you?"

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_A/n: a short chapter - my goodness, it takes these characters a LONG time to access stuff that's buried. =) _

_I love reviews; they make me write faster.  
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	5. Realization

_Well. He'd expected a reaction, of course, but not one of this magnitude. At his words (_what did you **want** me to ask you?_) Gillian's face had flushed dramatically (and more than a little becomingly, if he was honest); her eyes flew around the window behind his head; her hands came together in her lap, in an abbreviated defensive posture. Briefly Cal felt proud that she at least knew better than to cross her arms in front of herself, although he could see her arms making quick tiny movements in that direction. He'd asked the question mainly to disconcert her a little, after her obvious pleasure in surprising him, but he found himself becoming more and more interested in the actual answer._

"Not to rush you, love, but surely there's some sort of time limit on this game, isn't there?" he asked, after watching her fidget for a moment longer.

"I… don't even know if I understand the question, Cal," she replied, still avoiding his eyes except for brief flashes to check his reaction.

"That's a lie, obviously," said Cal, allowing his eyes to roll toward the ceiling in mock impatience. Truth was he'd happily wait in her desk chair all night to find out what had Gillian so wound up at this moment. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to decide what to do; her hands twisted anxiously in her lap. Cal took pity on her. "How 'bout this – would it be easier if I just said I could read it right off your face, the thing you wanted me to ask you?"

She looked up at him, finally making eye contact. "Can you?" she countered, eyebrows lifting as she raised her glass, inhaled deeply of the vapors, and took a substantial gulp.

"If you let me," he answered. Gillian's color was back up in her cheeks, but she'd summoned her courage from somewhere – most likely from within her now-empty-again glass – and she held her eyes on his as if he were the only anchor left in the world. Her teasing expression from a few minutes before had vanished, leaving her face unexpectedly serious. "Love, you don't have to show me anything you don't want to – you know that, right?" he asked, suddenly concerned that he'd bullied her into a position that was upsetting her.

"I do want to," she answered softly, eyes growing bigger.

"Then let's see it, shall we?" he prompted, concentration flowing from him in waves as he scrutinized her eyes, her lips, her pulse thrumming at her collarbone. He saw her drop. layer by layer, the mask she wore even during their times of relaxation. He checked off items mentally: fast pulse, lips just slightly more prominent than usual, challenge in her eyes – whoa. _Her eyes._ He thought he'd noticed a bit of dilation in them before, but now her wide pupils were screaming the message at him, in case he was too obtuse to understand the other signs. _Desire._

He felt things clicking – rather, thunking loudly – into place in his mind. He rose from her chair and was at her side in an instant. She'd let her eyes fall downward again, but he caught her gaze, making absolutely sure she had the opportunity to see his own eyes mirroring her expression. She breathed in sharply.

"You misled me, Foster," he said, reaching with his hand to touch her chin, tilt it up to keep her eyes on him. "That wasn't a truth at all, was it? That was a dare if ever I saw one."

"And?" she said, her voice trembling. He leaned closer, until their lips were separated by mere inches. Her breath was sweet and shaky across his face, her eyes half-closed.

"And you really want me to give you that dare?" He was teasing her – he could read the answer clear as day on her face, but enjoyed the way her body shifted toward his pleadingly, something he was certain she was unaware of right now.

"Yes," she breathed. The strained tone in her voice did something to his core that removed all thought of teasing from his mind.

"Kiss me, love," he instructed, his words ghosting across her lips, causing her to gasp as her eyes fluttered and closed.

He expected the tentative touch of her lips against his, the sudden silence as they both held their breath for an instant. He didn't expect the way that, when he moved his lips more firmly against hers, her mouth opened hotly to his, and her body surged against him like a wave. He didn't expect to feel his blood heating abruptly, his arms circling her tightly, their bodies fitting themselves together impatiently. Five seconds ago, he'd assumed this would be a momentary venture over that damnable line, discharging years' worth of the kind of curiosity that builds between close friends who've never slept together. Now Gillian Foster – his beautiful but often remote partner – was deluging him with her scent, her taste, her emotion for him. He pulled her body flush against his, and prepared to return what she'd shown him, what she'd given him when she opened herself to him.

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_A/n: I was holding out for what was revealed in the promo (you know the one), but we were disappointed about that tonight, yes? So here's my personal wish-fulfillment._

_And here's a tip for any Tim Roth enthusiasts out there – watch "The Perfect Husband." It's not a great film, but Tim Roth's performance as a master seducer certainly lends itself to LtM fanfic applications. =)_


	6. The Game Continues

"Kiss me, love." _Gillian had been caught by surprise herself at the rapid spread of heat through her body at Cal's quiet command. If she'd experienced the beginning of an anxious thought about whether this kiss would change everything between them, she had pushed it firmly from her mind, concentrating on moving the few inches needed to bring their lips into contact. She'd intended a simple brush of her lips against his, more than a peck, but still something that could reasonably happen between friends – barely more than the quick kisses Cal occasionally gave her in parting, in fact. But when she'd felt his lips return her pressure, breathed in as he exhaled, whatever she'd intended had come to naught, and the pleasurable heat that had been moving through her limbs had turned instantaneously to a euphoric feeling, and moved her body into line with his all of its own accord._

Cal's arms were enfolding her, pulling her insistently towards him until her breasts pressed against his chest and her arms circled his neck. He moved a hand upwards to caress her neck, guide her head to the side so he could deepen the kiss. When his tongue flicked her lips, she gasped, but his mouth stayed locked on hers, turning the sound into a moan as his tongue pressed deftly into her mouth. Somehow Gillian found the presence of mind to return the gesture, allowing her tongue to meet his, entangle it.

Eventually Cal pulled back no more than a few inches to let them both to breathe; he placed small kisses at the corner of her mouth, then nipped her lower lip gently as she caught her breath shakily.

"What now, Gill?" he asked, dipping his head to find her eyes. "Do we continue?" He caught the flicker of concern that flew across her face, and grinned knowingly. "The game, that is – do we keep playing?" He stroked along her bottom lip with his thumb, shuddering when the tip of her tongue emerged briefly to meet the pad of his thumb. "Or have you done what you set out to do?"

Gillian straightened herself slightly, eyes twinkling as she met Cal's gaze. "I think we could go on for another round or two, don't you?" She smiled sweetly at the expression of disappointment she knew he was allowing her to see, as she moved away from him to get a better look at his face. "I mean, have you accomplished everything you wanted to already?"

He settled himself back on her sofa, one arm trailing over the sofa's back to continue stroking her neck with the lightest of touches, sending electrical sensations down her arms. "Well, when you put it that way… I believe it's your turn, actually," he said, staring at her with a challenge in his eyes, and in the one-sided smirk on his lips. "Dare, Foster," he added, his grin widening to show his teeth as she'd seen him do countless times, usually when preparing to take down an enemy. Gillian shivered internally – she'd had a watered-down version of that look directed at her more than once, but only in teasing; she'd sometimes wondered what it would be like to face Cal in a genuine confrontation, and although there was no trace of hostility between them, this was it.

"You're very brave, Dr. Lightman," she said, rising from the sofa and standing over him. She placed a hand over his, where it lay on the back of the sofa; reaching for his other hand, she pulled it to a similar position. "Hold still," she instructed him, pressing down on his hands gently to make sure he understood her meaning. Cal merely raised an eyebrow, but very soon both brows were raised in surprise when she placed a knee on each side of his hips and swiftly sat in his lap. She pushed his hands more firmly into the sofa cushion when she felt them move towards her, then pulled hers away when she was sure he'd gotten the message – he'd asked for a dare, and she'd given it to him; she saw his arms relax and stretch casually along the sofa, but his dilated pupils and tightened neck muscles gave away his real emotions.

Gillian let her weight sink onto his lap, shifting herself slightly to maximize the contact between their lower bodies. She was aware of his hardness growing between her legs, but she ignored that for the time being, choosing to bring her lips to his ear, hands finding their way to his chest. "All those years of wanting to do this, every time we stayed late working on the budget in this office, every time I caught you slumped at your desk in the middle of the night working on a case, and now you can't stop me," she murmured into his ear, then gently bit his earlobe, taking pleasure in his groan and the twitch in his fingers that told her he desperately wanted to hold her, take control of her body.

"As if I would ever have stopped you, love," he said, his eyes roaming from her eyes to her lips to her throat, and back.

Gillian's fingertips skimmed lightly over Cal's tensed forearms, then biceps, then shoulders, finally resting on either side of his face. She leaned into him and flicked at his lips with the tip of her tongue, pulling back teasingly when he tried to press his lips to hers. She allowed her hips to begin moving against Cal's as they'd been trying to do ever since she sat down; she rotated herself against him, shocked when she felt how wet she was. While she was momentarily distracted, Cal darted his head forward and caught her thumb between his teeth; he bit down hard enough to hold her thumb in place, but it didn't hurt, it merely made her head spin and her juices pool in her panties.

"Felt that, darling," he said around her thumb, which was still trapped between his teeth. "Can smell how turned on you are, too, did you know that?" His tongue stroked her thumb and circled it suggestively, before he finally released her. "My turn, yeah?"

Gillian studied his face for a moment, astonished by the powerful attraction she saw there; Cal Lightman, who always made people see exactly – and only – what he wanted them to see, was openly desiring her, wanting her, and it made her bold. "Dare," she replied, warning bells immediately sounding in her mind when she saw the grin spreading across his face.

"You sure about that?" he asked, still not moving from the position she'd directed him to, his mocking tone belied by a new rasp in his voice. "I'll let you change your mind if you want," he added, teeth showing in his smile again.

Gillian brought her lips to within millimeters of his. "Dare," she repeated.

This time, Cal responded - no sooner had the word left her lips than he was standing up, nearly dropping her to the carpet in his abruptness. By the time she found her balance and reseated herself on the sofa, he had crossed the room and dropped back into her desk chair, slouching deeply and resting his chin on his hand. At this distance his eyes seemed black; he seemed an entirely different person from the Cal who'd so gently told her to kiss him ten minutes ago.

"Take off your clothes," he commanded, his voice coming out low and dangerous. She felt her mouth dropping open, and saw him drinking in her shock with eyes that held her pinned to the sofa. Feigning relaxation, he rested his shoes on her desk, clearly conveying that he was waiting. "Well, Foster?" he said, when a few seconds had passed without motion. "You did say 'dare,' after all."

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_A/n: you may recognize that last bit from the 'Prologue', which was all I had when I started this story. Well, that idea, plus an unhealthy appetite for some Tim Roth action. I've been watching another TR film, Captives, which I highly recommend except that it makes me frustrated that network TV doesn't allow much in the way of sex scenes - the man knows how to play 'em._

_Anyway, please do review and let me know how it's coming along!_


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